


Mister Sparkles

by ignipes



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-09
Updated: 2007-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is a unicorn. Dean likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mister Sparkles

Dean had never wanted to be a twelve-year-old girl so much in his life.

Okay, that was fucked up, but look at the facts:

Over here, him, boots covered with shit and hay stuck in his goddamned ears, for crying out loud, nobody paying him the slightest bit of attention. Not even Sam. Fucking traitor.

Over there, a bunch of squealing little girls with stupid pink helmets and stupid black boots and stupid whips, all of them crowded around Sam like he was the goddamned Second Coming of the horse world, petting him and stroking him and brushing him and polishing his horn and -- fucking hell, _braiding his hair_, and that little brat probably thought he didn't see the pink ribbon she was weaving in there.

And Sam. Sam sure as hell wasn't doing anything that made Dean think he deserved carrots, that was for damn sure. The bastard was _prancing_, for Christ's sake, preening and whickering and nudging that big velvety muzzle into the girls' shoulders like it was the best game anybody'd ever invented. He'd trot around a little, his white tail gleaming in the sunlight and his horn flashing like a sword, and all the grimy little brats oooh'd and ahhh'd like they'd never seen a fucking unicorn before--

Which, okay, Dean thought. In all fairness, they probably hadn't. Even in Kentucky, where people saw all kinds of weird shit.

Still, it was no excuse.

"Okay, kids," Dean said, pushing away from the fence and strolling over to them. "Show's over. Go on, get out of here. Mr. Sparkles needs some quiet pasture time, and you're annoying him."

"We are not!" one girl cried in protest.

Another insisted, "We're taking good care of him!"

"Unicorns can't be boys," one very small girl piped up indignantly. "It's not allowed!"

Dean looked at the girl for a long moment, resisting the urge to draw her attention to the rather prominent evidence to the contrary that was hanging out for all the world to see, then slowly turned and met Sam's eyes. Sam's big, bright, violet, _sparkling_ eyes. "You hear that, Mr. Sparkles? Even the kids know you're a fucking pussy on the inside, no matter how big your dick is."

There were gasps of shock and horror all around.

"You said a bad word," said the smallest girl, marching up to Dean and pointing her riding crop at his nose. "Lady Sparkles doesn't like bad words. You should say you're sorry."

"I'm going to say a lot more bad words in a minute if you don't make like the goddamned Derby and get out of here," Dean said, glaring at the little girl until her lip began to wobble and she turned and ran.

The other girls followed, whispering amongst themselves and shooting him hateful glares in that way that eerie, vaguely evil manner of middle school females everywhere.

When they were out of earshot, Dean turned to Sam. "I hate you."

Sam whinnied quietly and took one plodding step forward.

"Only you would be stupid enough to fall into an _enchanted pile of hay_. You are the biggest fucking idiot I have ever--"

Snorting angrily, Sam lowered his head and poked Dean's shoulder with his horn, his big nostrils flaring and his big purple eyes glaring. Dean tried to swat Sam aside, but twelve hundred pounds of magically transformed horseflesh wasn't easily swatted. He closed his hand over the horn instead, not wanting to lose any important internal organs if Sam decided to take another step forward. The horn was very smooth, like the inside of sea shells, and Dean ran his fingers absently along the spiral grooves while he spoke.

"Look, I have to check out the other places around here. I don't know who the genius is who put a spell on that hay, but once I find him..." Dean shrugged, stepped to the side and patted Sam's neck absently. Sam's white coat was soft -- the little brats and their brushes had done a good job, apparently -- and warm to the touch, and maybe this was a little weird, _petting_ Sam in a way that didn't involve either of them moaning _god, yes, fuck me now_, but it felt nice. Silky, in a way, nothing like brushing his fingers over the smooth skin of Sam's back or running his hands through his hair, but... it was nice.

Sam turned his massive head, purple eyes glinting and that freaky horn standing at perpetual attention, and Dean snatched his hand back.

Fuck. He really _was_ turning into a twelve-year-old girl.

"Right. I'll be back later. No frolicking, no prancing, no letting underage girls ride you, and for the love of god, _please_ stay away from that mare in the next pasture, okay? Just because you have a gigantic cock in the middle of your forehead doesn't mean you have to go around proving that you're a real stallion to every slutty Appaloosa you meet."

Dean tried to glare at Sam sternly, but it was hard to keep a straight face when engaged in a staring contest with a white, gleaming, horned horse with pink ribbons braided into his mane. Especially when that horse just happened to be your little brother.

"Got it?" Dean said. "Good. I'm going to go..." He looked around speculatively, surveying the pasture and surrounding fields. There were horse-crazed lunatics everywhere, but he had to start somewhere. He pointed down to the far end of the pasture, toward one of the neighboring farms with a suspiciously cute house and barn nestled in the middle of a suspiciously green field. "That's where I'll start. That place looks too fucking _nice_ to be anything but evil."

Sam gave him a look that said, quite clearly, _Dude, whatever_, and as Dean started to walk away he trotted up beside him, tossing his head and nudging Dean's shoulder insistently.

"What?" Dean tried to shove him away. "Go eat grass or something and let me figure this out."

Sam trotted around -- no, he _pranced_ around -- and blocked Dean's path.

"What? What do you want? I don't speak Flaming Gay Unicorn, man, and I don't have any carrots."

Stomping one hoof pointedly, Sam twisted his head and looked toward his own broad back, looked back at Dean, then at his back again.

"What the hell -- no." Dean started backing away, shaking his head. "No way. No fucking way."

Sam tossed his head and batted his eyes -- holy fuck, he had _silver eyelashes_ \-- sadly.

"I don't ride horses. Not even you."

Sam dropped his head in the most pathetic manner possible. Even his sparkly silver tail seemed to droop.

"Oh, give me a break. I know how much you love spending time between my legs, but this is just wrong and there's no way--" Dean stopped mid-sentence to contemplate for a moment just when _fucking my brother_ had become the standard of normal by which the rest of their screwed-up lives was measured.

From the way Sam was looking at him, he figured Sam was thinking the same thing.

Either that, or unicorns were telepathic. Maybe the horns were, like, giant brainwave antennas.

You never knew.

"Fine. Just over to that other farm, okay?" He stepped up to Sam's side and narrowed his eyes. How the fuck was he supposed to get up there, anyway? It always looked so easy in the movies when dudes just ran up and jumped on the horses, but Dean suspected that if he tried that he would end up face-down in the mud. "Okay. Hold still."

After a great deal of effort that involved struggling, flailing, yanking, and nearly swallowing a mouthful of silken, silvery mane, Dean was sitting rather unsteadily astride Sam's back, trying his damnedest to ignore the whickering noise that sounded an awful lot like laughter. It was a lot harder to keep his balance than he'd expected, and the ground seemed pretty far away, so when Sam started plodding slowly Dean fell forward and twisted his hands into Sam's mane.

"I fall off," he muttered threateningly, "and you're going straight to the glue factory."

Sam only whinnied, tossed his head, and quickened his pace.

"Fuck! Ouch, fuck, are you _kidding_ me?" Dean demanded, his voice going alarmingly high as Sam began to trot, rattling his teeth and jarring every bone in his goddamned body. He tightened his grip in Sam's mane, certain that he was going to be bumped right off the bastard's back and wondering how the hell anybody managed to look graceful doing this, and also how civilization had managed to persist for thousands of years with men on horseback all that time.

But Sam quickened his pace a little more, and even though Dean was still slipping all over the place trying not to lose his balance, it got a little easier, a little smoother. It started to feel less like a dollar-a-ride metal barrel bucking machine and more like -- well, he wasn't quite sure what it felt like, but he could feel Sam's muscles working under him and the heat on his legs. He fell into the easy, rocking rhythm of following Sam's motion, sitting forward some so his ass didn't get pounded quite so much, and tried to relax.

He squeezed with his legs for better balance and Sam responded immediately, surging forward and breaking into a gallop. Dean yelped and lurched but managed to stay on top, feeling the rippling of Sam's muscles and the hot friction through his jeans, the cool wind in his hair and his hands grasping Sam's soft, strong mane.

They raced across the pasture, hooves thundering underneath, Sam so huge and alive between his legs, moving together as one, all motion and heat and speed and it kinda hurt, but not in a bad way, and -- _fuck me, no wonder girls like doing this so much_ \-- and Dean was almost sorry when they neared the fence at the end and Sam slowed first to an uncomfortable trot, then to a walk.

Breathing heavily, Dean slid off and dropped to the ground. His legs felt a little wobbly, and he tried not to think too much about how much he wanted to lay his face against Sam's heaving flank or the fact that his jeans felt just a little tight.

He stepped back and cleared his throat gruffly, checking to see that his gun was still tucked into his waistband, and said, "Thanks for the ride, Flicka."

Sam snorted and bumped Dean with his nose, then let the tip of his horn scrape ever-so-softly along Dean's jaw.

"Uh... Sam? What the--"

Whinnying shrilly, Sam whirled around and galloped away, kicking up grass and dirt in his wake, the pink ribbons in his mane catching the sunlight as he turned. Dean watched him go, thinking idly about the way his muscles moved underneath that shiny white coat, then turned and walked awkwardly over to the fence. He climbed it quickly, wincing at the pressure of his jeans on his hard cock, and jumped down to the ground, refusing to let himself look back.

He stalked toward the buildings of the creepily cheerful farm, thinking of all the horrible and painful things he would do to whoever was responsible for Sam's current mythical equine state. They had to reverse it. No way could Sam stay like this, twelve hundred pounds of powerful muscle, smooth as silk and hot to the touch, those big stupid purple eyes and that fucking _horn_, stupid thing was a lethal weapon, could do somebody real damage if he didn't look where he stuck it, he could've drawn blood just teasing Dean and that really, really shouldn't make his chest feel tight and his breath short and--

_Oh, fuck it._

Looking quickly to make sure nobody was around, Dean ducked behind a shed and walked around to the back. He leaned against the rough wooden planks and fumbled with the button and fly of his jeans, hissing with relief as he tugged his dick free and wrapped his hand around it, pumping quickly and urgently and trying to pretend he wasn't thinking about what it felt like to have Sam rippling and sweating beneath him, all pounding rhythm and heated muscles and -- _god_, four strokes and he came with a strangled gasp, barely out of the gate like a fucking teenager.

Dean stuffed himself back into his pants and bent down to wipe his hand on the grass, and when he straightened up again he noticed the round enclosure about fifty feet away. Behind the fence, two gray horses were watching him, their ears perked up and their tails swishing energetically.

"Don't even fucking think about it," he growled.

Their ears twitched, and he swore he saw one of them _leer_.

"If you don't stop staring at me, I'm going to shoot you."

Dean turned and walked away, ready to find somebody to kill.

**Author's Note:**

> There's more: http://krisomniac.livejournal.com/113612.html. We're not sorry.


End file.
